Halo
by Israfel.R
Summary: I'm sorry for all the things I put everyone through, for being a horrible bully. I'm scared to stand up for myself, to be myself, and to be proud of what I am. suicide warning more hurt than comfort


A/N: Dedicated to my father, who wishes Dave will get hit by a truck full of feathers…

**SUICIDE WARNING** RAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWR Don't like, don't read… I don't like and I wrote it…. Crying… Even though I don't think it's _that_ sad but I kind of felt something when I wrote it. I'm not happy with the ending cause I hate sad endings so _I MIGHT_ make this into a full story but IDK

* * *

It's hard being me. It's hard to hate someone so much, to bully them to make themselves hate who they are, to be the perfect child for your family and for no one to know your secret. I was not always like this, hating Hummel cause he was gay. At first, I didn't care. It was just when my parents would act toward gays, lesbians, transgender people and anyone who didn't even seem to fix into the norm. I couldn't, can't, have the only people who are suppose to love me no matter what hate me cause I am gay, I wouldn't be able to see nor feel the rejection that my parents give to other gays to be put on me. I'm only a teenager; I shouldn't be having these problems.

That's why I pick on Hummel; not because he's gay, because he can be himself and have a loving family and friends. I could have just come out to him, but if word got out I would be killed by my father for not being a man. I had to pick on the weak, that's what men do in my father's eyes. It's what I have to do to be a man, a prefect man. Hummel though, I wish I could be like him. Be brave to be out, to just not care what others will say or even if my family would kick me out; but I cannot. I am too scared.

I will lie in bed, staring at my white walls design with posters of female models hardly wearing clothing, my father proud of them, but I would look at the athletes on my wall at nights when I jerk off, I would fantasize about some guy on top of me, and I would think of ways to get Hummel to forget that I'm such an asshole hypocrite to just taste his lips. I will cruse myself for thinking like that though, mentally punching myself in self hate and depression. All I want is to be myself.

That's why I crashed.

I must have pushed Hummel to hard, causing him to follow me to the locker room having him yell at me. I couldn't handle it, I told him to shut up, I repeated that his is trying to get under my skin, that he was doing a great job, and the only way I could think of him to shut up is to grab him and press my lips against his own.

My first kiss from a boy. Hummel didn't taste like how I thought, like fruits or some girly stuff, he tasted better than that. He taste like a guy, or how I would image a guy would taste like. I pull back, staring at him as he stares at me in shock, so I go for another.

He pulls back, fear rolls at me. I snap out of my haze, rushing out of there in so much fear he will tell someone. I kind of wanted him to though, for the message to get to my parents so I can just tell them the truth, but Hummel doesn't. If anything he does something worst.

A really cute guy in a school uniform came up to me with Hummel, they try to get me to come out but I shove the boy in black. I was to scared.

That night, I cried so much I couldn't get enough rest for school the next day. I blamed it on Black Ops though; every guy gave me props for that.

I end up avoiding Hummel like my life depended on staying away from him. If I saw him coming down the hallway, I turn the other way, if he was standing in front of my class room, I would skip, and for lunch I just stood out of the cafeteria, starving myself till I got home. I think he notice though, how the bulking stopped, how he never saw me if he noticed.

It's how I find myself cornered once more by the small guy, with me having no will power or energy to really run away.

"What's wrong with you?" He's high pitch voice meets my ears as my eyes stare anywhere but his face. "Just come out."

So unlike me, I say in a weak voice I have adopted into getting after weeks of depression. "I'm not gay." I lie so well, a lie I tell myself every night.

"Bull shit." Hummel mutters, poking my chest over my heart.

Biting my lips, I shove him weakly away from me. I growl out, trying to find some form of strength. "I'm not like you." Which is so true.

"You're not alone." He says, his hand takes hold of my arm in a pleading matter.

"Why would you want to help me!" I yell out my thoughts, "I bully you for years, are you fucking insane?" I shove him harder; he hits the locker with a bang as he let out a cry of pain. "I don't need your pity! Just leave me alone!" I storm away.

The next few weeks I avoid him once more. I hardly bullied him, I acted as if he wasn't alive. I couldn't be in the same room as him so I skipped out of classes. I couldn't take this anymore. I really like Kurt, honestly I do, but it kills me to be near him.

I'm not even safe at home. My father and brothers will watch the game, making side comments on who is a faggot cause he cannot get a point, or who would let a pussy player join the team. I wince at all those comments, feeling I should say something. The homophobia runs really deep with them though, anything that seems gay will be taken as it.

When I was younger I would help my mother by cooking and cleaning. I really loved doing those things, I still do. I would even help her dress up and do her hair and make-up, but it all stopped when I got to middle school. I would sneak peeks of my mother getting ready for work, wanting to help her clean the house or make dinner. I want to still do those things without my father calling me a fag. I want to read fashion magazines, watch Logo all day long, and bake fabulous cakes.

But I can't.

Not after what my father did to me when I was ten. I can't get rid of the fear of being shoved to hard down the stairs or getting my hair pulled as he calls me horrible names. I can't get rid of the feeling of being watched as I try and watch RuPaul's Drag Race on my computer, just waiting for my father to come into my room to scream at me. I can't stop thinking of my father finding all the Vogue issues under my bed that is in an old box. I don't want to be kicked out again, as my mother does nothing but turn her eyes away from the scene. Saying she did not mean to raise a gay son.

I can't handle the secrets anymore.

I want to be free to do as I want.

It gets better for some, as I see on tons of YouTube videos. They raise hope for me as think about sitting with Kurt, hand in hand, as we watch a play in Broadway, or as we cuddle under the start sky on a cool night in Cali, or even at our studio apparently in New York as we sit by the fire place with a cute Lab. I really want it to get better for myself, but it's not going to. I'm a horrible person who deserves to die since all I do is bully the one guy I like, pushing him away so I don't get found out.

It's true, you know.

I deserve death. I don't even know why I'm still alive. I do nothing but take up air and space. I do nothing good for people. My grades are possible so I can play sports. I have no real friends. Everyone hates me. I should just die. Not by my father hands as I tell him I'm gay. I should do it.

But before I do, I should do something nice. So people can remember me as someone who did a final good act and not some nobody.

So, I came up with this plan.

* * *

Helping others was the first part of the plan. Instead of hurting someone, I helped them up, shove the other jocks who tried to slushy someone, and hold the door for my fellow classmates. Sure, I got odd stares but the thank yous felt nice. I felt a bit better about myself but even those thank you'd felt strained as if they had to say it. It lost its meaning when it's for me, cause I don't deserve it. And it hurts so fucking much.

Telling the Glee club I am sorry for all the shit I put them through. The Spanish teahcer was indeed shock as I came into the room on Thursday.

I came in with a telling them I had a song I wanted to sing to them. I sit before the piano as they stare in shock as I press the keys with expert skills. It was always unmanly in my family to be able to play it but I snuck learning it. Taking a deep breath I start the song with all the emotions I hold in my big body:

"_Remember those walls I built_

_Well, baby they're tumbling down_

_And they didn't even put up a fight_

_They didn't even make up a sound_"

One song I know Kurt should love was Halo since he did the Single Ladies song. I don't even know why I would sing this since I know Kurt doesn't want to be that person as I sing it to him, staring at him. Kurt ignores me though, staring at his cell as his text that boyfriend of his. It stings so much but I know i deserve it. It's selfish to think otherwise. Selfish to think he would see me in a different light and understand all my pain, understand why I was pushing him away when all I want is him to chase me down and help me as he pins me down telling me I should be myself and he will be there holding my hand.

The group seems to take a liking to me though, praising me but I tune them out hoping to hear Kurt say he loves that I got some courage to sing to them, but he doesn't as he smiles down at his cell. Mr. Schue tells me I should join; I smile and lie saying I would love to. I don't plan on joining them but I would love to it I could.

I left the room, making my way to Kurt's locker which I memorize due to the fact I would always shove him into it every day to feel him. I take out the letter I wrote, frowning slightly. I don't know why I should give it to him, he loves that other guy. He would never go for me. But it's another selfish act as I slip the pink note in. I let out a shaky breath as I walk away from the locker for the last time. I know he'll never to for me, but at least my feels can be read.

When I get home, I logged into facebook putting on my status that I'm gay. Tons of people comment saying that I was probably hacked but most thought it was a joke. I do nothing though. I wait to see if Kurt might send me a message even though we are not friends on facebook, I even toyed the idea of sending him a friend request but later decided against it as I stare at the photo of him and his prefect boyfriend.

My family was out; my father and mother were working hard, my younger brother at his football practice, and my older brother at his college. They won't be home for hours as I sit on my bed staring at my walls. I take out a paper, writing how sorry I am for being a mistake, that I wish I didn't have to lie about myself and I wished they would have loved me if they knew that I was gay. I wrote that they didn't need to have a ceremony since I knew they hated me for being gay and I would understand.

I place the note on my pillow as I get up to go to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, taking the bottle of sleeping pills I made way back to my room. I change into some comfortable clothing, taking out my favorite Vogue issue smiling as I read it for the last time. I swallow over thirty of them, taking my iPod out as I play a playlist that would make every gay man proud to know I own those songs. Smiling slightly, I hum with the music, feeling my body getting heavier, as the words slur together, and my bead begins to hurt as I try to stay up a little longer. I closed my eyes, thinking of a better place, a place I belong where I can be free to be myself and have someone love me, were grades didn't matter, were how much you weigh mattered, were being gay didn't matter, were nothing mattered.

I feel sick as I will myself to just go to sleep and not think as I feel tears sting my eyes.

_I'm sorry mom and dad for being a fag. It's not your fault I was born this way, that I'm a freak. But at least you don't have to worry about it. It's my problem I was like this, that I'm not normal. I made it easier on you though, so you don't have to know your son is gay._

_I'm sorry Kurt for kissing you. I should have asked or at least known you had a great boyfriend. Who would ever love a guy like me? But I'm glad my last kiss was you._


End file.
